


Drown Me with Kisses

by LadySlytherin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Vernon Boyd & Erica Reyes, Alpha Derek, Alpha Derek Hale, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Derek, Bottom Derek Hale, Bottom Derek Hale/Top Stiles Stilinski, Cursed Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale Can Have Nice Things, Derek Hale Saves The Day, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Derek Needs To Use His Words, Derek is a Good Alpha, Derek's Eyebrows, Dirty Talk, Erica Ships Sterek, Future Fic, Hand Jobs, I think I tagged everything, I'm not even sorry; some of these tags are hilarious, Lydia Martin Is So Done, Lydia Martin is Part of the Pack, Lydia is Perfect, M/M, Mates Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Monster of the Week, Oblivious Stiles, Pack Mother Stiles Stilinski, Pining Derek, Post-Season/Series 02 AU, Scent Kink, Scent Marking, Scenting, Scents & Smells, Sheriff Stilinski Knows About Werewolves, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Sorry Not Sorry, Stiles Stilinski Being an Idiot, Stiles Stilinski is Part of the Pack, Stiles Stilinski's Name, Stiles is Legal, Top Stiles Stilinski, Virgin Stiles Stilinski, fuck it I'm tagging everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 19:22:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7451080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySlytherin/pseuds/LadySlytherin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a rusalka in the preserve nearly kills Stiles with a kiss, Stiles is in grave danger any time he’s near a source of water - not just rivers, lakes, and oceans, but pools, bathtubs, the shower, a sink full of water - you put water in it, and it could probably kill Stiles now. Deaton’s advice? Break the rusalka’s magic with a kiss of opposite power - love to beat out death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drown Me with Kisses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tootsie2230](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tootsie2230/gifts).



> This fic is late. Like... _sooo_ late. Over a month late. But Ali is a goddess and she forgives me for taking so long to finish her birthday present, so it's all good. Also, she was kind enough to pre-read/edit her own present. Not to mention she html coded the damned thing. So. Ali deserves _all_ the nice things. Like, just...all of them.
> 
> This fic is post-S2 au so Boyd and Erica and Jackson are all still around and there's no alpha-pack members lingering about the place. And Cora's non-existent/presumed dead/whatever. Nogitsune never happened. Neither did the Darach. I was lazy with backstory. Oops. :P
> 
> Come bother me on tumblr at: http://everything-a-wolf-could-want.tumblr.com/ I post writing advice, and fandom stuff, and sometimes reblog fanfic from other peeps. I also accept asks, and prompts (though I reserve the right to refuse them, obviously). ^_^
> 
> ~ Sly

Stiles should have known that wandering off in the Preserve on his own was a bad idea. It had been two and a half years since Scott had been bitten, and during that time they’d dealt with a fair amount of supernatural beings, both benign and malicious. Most of them had, at one stage of their interactions or another, lurked in the Preserve. Not that Stiles blamed them, because the forest-portion of the Hale Territory was gorgeous, which was why Derek’s pack often gathered there, to run and train and simply hang out. It was mid-June now, the weather just creeping from warm to hot and school having just let out, and in a few short months they’d all be scattering for college though Stiles had no doubt they’d all come back for holidays and summer breaks and, after graduation, the pull of Beacon Hills - and _pack_ \- would have them all settling back into their hometown.

Still, the very idea of being separated after all this time together - all of the life-or-death situations they’d pulled themselves and each other through - was enough to have everyone clinging tightly to each other; spending every second as close as they could until they couldn't anymore. Once Derek had rebuilt Hale House during their Junior year of high school, pack gatherings had increased exponentially and, more often than not, they took place at the Hale House. Weather-permitting, they tended to migrate outside at some point.

When Stiles had wandered into the trees, away from the cleared yard surrounding the house, the girls - Erica, Allison, and Lydia - had been sunbathing, while Scott, Isaac, Danny (who’d admitted to knowing about werewolves because of his family sometime during their Junior year), and Jackson were - wrestling? Mock-sparring? Having a sort of puppy pile? Stiles wasn’t sure - playing together as Derek and Boyd cooked food on the grill. Stiles wasn’t sure where Peter was, but the older wolf was sure to be lurking somewhere around. So, with nothing else to do, Stiles had slipped away from the others and into the forest.

It wasn’t that Stiles didn’t feel included, or helpful, or like he was part of the pack. He was absolutely certain of his importance; knew that when Derek and Scott - his second - were making plans or decisions, they _always_ asked Stiles for his input; knew that if neither of them was around, the pack turned to _him_ for answers and solutions. It was just that he was separate in a way the others weren’t. For all that Allison and Danny were humans as well, they both kept up with the wolves in ways Stiles had never been able to. Allison because of the hunter training she’d had, and Danny because he’d grown up with werewolves; grown up playing with them until he was almost as strong and fit as they were. Stiles had been training, of course; he’d been doing his level-best to keep up. But for all that he’d gained some muscle definition, he remained both lithe and ungraceful. Sparring with the others wasn’t an option for him, and Stiles wasn’t into sunbathing - he mostly burned, anyway - and he’d already finished his assigned portion of the cooking, which was mostly some desserts and potato salad and pasta salad, then some prep for the meat before turning it over to Derek and Boyd. So there hadn’t been any reason for him to stick close until the food was done.

Stiles didn’t mind being alone, though. Not when he knew he was pack, because alone or together with them all, he’d never be _lonely_ again. So he accepted the quiet of the trees around him, and the soft wind moving through them, and the occasional crack of a branch or rustling of brush that signaled some woodland creature moving nearby, out of his sight. He accepted the peace that came from knowing there was no current threat - that things had been quiet for several weeks now and that showed no signs of changing. Word had slowly spread that the Hale Territory was once again held by a Hale Alpha, who had a strong pack and an alliance with hunters. Not just any hunters, either, but the Argents - and that the newest female Argent was even considered pack. It meant that the threats they’d faced had eased off after their Junior year and were much more sporadic.

It was a large part of why they’d felt comfortable splitting up for college, though Isaac was attending the community college a couple of towns over and would be commuting. And Erica, Boyd, and Stiles would be less than two hours away, at Berkeley. Scott and Allison would be a twelve hour drive out. Furthest away, Lydia and Danny were attending MIT together, with Jackson at Harvard. It would be tough, but they’d manage. For now, they had the summer together.

Stiles was yanked out of his musings by the sound of soft, feminine laughter. He spun in a circle, eyes sharp, because it hadn’t sounded like any of the pack’s females. It came again, light and ringing through the trees, followed by a sort of rhythmic clapping. Curious, Stiles moved in the direction of the sound and soon found himself near the largest river in the Preserve, at a spot where it had run over one of the banks enough times to create a small pool of slow-moving water alongside the faster river. It was a peaceful spot, and Stiles knew it was deeper than it looked because the pack had come to cool off here more than once the previous summer, after a long day spent helping Derek hang drywall and lay flooring and such. There had been no odd giggling then.

There also hadn’t been a young woman - not much more than a teenager, if Stiles had to guess at her age - sitting on the lowest branch of a birch tree, near the water’s edge. She was wearing a thin white robe, and had fiery hair falling in loose curls all around her slender frame. Her lips were cherry red and parted around another laugh; her balance was perfect as she clapped her hands and she didn’t sway a bit on her precarious perch. Her moon-pale face was devastatingly beautiful, and this was coming from someone who spent his days surrounded by gorgeous women, like Lydia - the living goddess - and Allison - the femme fatale with the face of an angel - and Erica - the good girl gone bad.

There was something universal about this girl’s beauty; something that made Stiles think there wasn’t a person on earth who wouldn’t find her attractive. Her fathomless green eyes were heartbreakingly sad, despite the laughter on her lips, and Stiles _ached_ just from seeing her. Unable to resist her allure, he stepped closer to the tree she was seated in. She watched him intently, still giggling softly, her hands clapping more gently now that he was drawing near. Stiles noted her bare feet beneath the hem of her robe, and how flimsy the fabric was, showing her slender frame in shadowy silhouette beneath it. Stopping just a few feet shy of the birch, Stiles swallowed hard and waited, though he wasn’t sure for what.

Somehow, between one blink and the next, she was out of the tree and standing just an arm’s length away from Stiles, no longer laughing. She was staring at him with those wide, sad eyes and her lips were curved into a small smile that didn’t seem fake but which was starkly at odds with how _in pain_ her eyes said she was. Stiles wasn’t sure what she was, but he _was_ certain she wasn’t human. Part of him said he should run away; the rest of him was pointing out the friendly creatures they’d encountered over the last two years, hung up on the misery in her eyes, and he just wanted to help. If he could.

“Hey.” He said, keeping his voice pitched low and as unthreatening as he could. “So, you’re new. And kind of in someone else’s territory. Did you...need something? Help, or...I don’t know. Help?” When she just blinked those sad eyes at him, he asked. “Do you have a name?”

She nodded slowly, then said. “Lechsinska.” Her voice was melodic, and soft, and somehow almost _liquid_ despite the Slavic accent she spoke with. Her name came out sounding like _Lesh-een-ka_ and it made Stiles think of his mother, and how she’d sometimes said names or places or words when she slipped into the Polish she’d learned from her parents and grandparents as a young girl.

“That’s beautiful. _Lechsinska._ ” He said it flawlessly, despite having only heard it the once; Claudia hadn’t made him fluent in Polish, but he had the accent down at least. “My name is...” He hesitated, then made a decision, because he really hated the sorrow painting this girl’s beautiful green eyes. “Mścisław.”

Lechsinska blinked, then smiled a little wider and said his name back, her tongue moving flawlessly across the syllables in a way no one but his mother’s ever had. “Mścisław.” ‘ _Mees-che-swaff._ ’ That was how it sounded, with a combination of sharp sounds and blending consonants that no one ever got right, and it made something in Stiles feel warm and soft for this creature, whatever she was. “A good name. Are you a good man?”

“I don’t know.” Stiles shrugged, because he didn’t want to lie. “I’d like to think so. I try to be. If there’s something I can do to help you, I will. You seem sad.”

Lechsinska bit her lip, straight white teeth sinking into plump red flesh for a moment before releasing. She tipped her head to the side, then asked softly. “Will you keep me company, Mścisław? Will you swim with me?”

“Uh...sure. I can do that.” Stiles felt his whole face flush as Lechsinska pulled her white robe over her head, her red curls the only thing covering her pale, slim curves as she began backing into the water. She kept her eyes locked on Stiles’ face and stopped when she was waist-deep, holding out both hands to him in a beckoning gesture. “Right, I can...okay. Yeah.”

Stiles kicked his shoes off, hastily shoving his socks into them, then yanked his tee-shirt over his head in a flailing sort of way. He scrambled out of his jeans, hesitated, then decided to leave his boxers on. Lechsinska was clearly comfortable in her own skin, but Stiles kind of wanted a barrier over his more intimate parts, seeing as he really didn’t know this creature or even what she was. She didn’t seem dangerous, but if he had to run away screaming he’d rather not do it _completely_ naked. The pack would never let him live it down if that happened.

Shaking his head, Stiles stepped into the water, moving closer to Lechsinska, until they were only a foot or so apart, nothing between them but cool water...and Stiles’ boxers. Stiles was a little surprised, actually, at how warm the water was, and wondered if it was her doing. She made a slight grabby motion with her hands and stared up at him with wide eyes, waiting. After a moment’s hesitation, Stiles slid his hands into hers. A smile formed on her lips and she took a few more steps backward, tugging him along with her. When the water was lapping the upper curves of her breasts - putting it at the bottom of Stiles’ ribcage, what with their height difference and all - she stopped and tipped her head back to meet his eyes again.

“What...” Stiles asked, then stopped because he didn’t even know what it was he was trying to ask.

Lechsinska’s tongue came out, darting across her lower lip and leaving it slick and shiny. Then she lowered her eyes, a blush staining her cheeks, and asked. “Will you kiss me, Mścisław?”

Stiles opened his mouth, fully intending to say _no._ Because if there was one thing he’d learned over the two and half years he’d been dealing with the supernatural - mostly from Derek’s mistakes - it was that you _did not_ kiss someone if you didn’t know what they were. It almost never ended well. Before he could refuse, a dangerous roaring howl ripped through the air and Stiles jumped because he’d know that sound anywhere. Derek’s _‘I’m the Alpha so listen to me!’_ cry was pretty damned distinctive. Stiles turned to look back at the bank, to see Derek standing there with glowing red eyes and fangs and claws, his face in that funny beta form he had with no eyebrows. An instant later, Lechsinska was between them, her water-damp hair and the slick skin of her back pressed against Stiles’ front as she hissed at Derek.

“Hey, hey...” Stiles soothed, his hands curling around her upper arms gently. “It’s okay. Derek’s the alpha whose territory you’re in. But he won’t hurt you, Lechsinska, or me. It’s alright.”

“Stiles, get away from her.” Derek snapped, and his voice was laced in the undertone of his wolf’s authority, which Stiles _hated_ , since it meant Derek was trying to force him to obey even though he couldn't because Stiles was a human.

“Mścisław is _mine._ ” And Stiles winced, both because he didn’t like Derek hearing his real name - didn’t like _anyone_ hearing his real name - and also because challenging a werewolf for a member of their pack wasn’t the brightest thing to do. “Go away, wilkołak!”

Derek stared in confusion for a moment, features shifting back to human, then he looked at Stiles and asked. “What the hell did she just say?”

“Ah...my name.” Stiles admitted, knowing his face was bright red. “And I’m not a hundred percent sure, but I think the word at the end meant werewolf. My Polish is more than a little rusty and I wasn’t exactly fluent even as a kid, so...kinda guessing here.”

Then he squeezed Lechsinska’s arms and added. “Hey, look. I’m going to go talk to Derek, and calm him down a bit, and then you can join us and we’ll talk about why you’re in his territory and what you need help with. But I’m in his pack, so calling me yours isn’t really a good idea. Do you understand?”

She turned slowly to look at him, then nodded. Stiles shifted around her and started walking towards Derek, who was pacing at the water’s edge. He jumped when he felt a small hand slide into his own, tiny fingers slotting through his. Sighing, he decided it wouldn’t hurt _too_ much if she followed right away and didn’t shake off her touch, instead pulling her along. When the water was at his knees, Derek growled, eyes flashing red again, and Stiles stopped.

“What? Why the hell are you growling at me?” Stiles asked.

“I don’t want the rusalka any closer to me.” Derek snapped, not looking away from the tiny female at Stiles’ side. “I want to talk to you. Leave her there for now.”

“You’re so bossy.” Stiles snarked, rolling his eyes. As he turned to face Lechsinska again, part of Stiles’ overactive brain was already sorting through entries in the bestiary, trying to recall what he knew about the creature Derek had just named. “Hey, I’m going to go talk to Derek. We’ll be right by the treeline, if I know him at all, which I do, so. You just...wait here. Okay?”

Lechsinska made a soft sobbing sound, and dropped her eyes, lashes sweeping down to curl against pale cheeks as they shielded the bright green. A single tear slipped down her cheek and Stiles felt his heart break for her. He brought one hand up and cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear. “It’s okay. Please don’t cry, Lechsinska. I’ll be right back. I promised to help you, remember?”

Suddenly her hands were fisted in his hair and she was staring up at him, a wild and desperate look in her eyes as she pleaded. “Kiss me, Mścisław. Please, _kiss me_.”

“Stiles, don’t!” Derek snarled, followed by. “He’s already claimed, rusalka. Let him go and get out of my territory _now_ , or we’ll end you.”

Lechsinska’s face twisted in fury and with inhuman strength she dragged Stiles’ mouth down to hers, whispering against his lips. “You’re mine now, Mścisław.”

As her tongue slid into his mouth - tasting strangely like lake water - she fell backwards, into the water, pulling Stiles along with her. He struggled to shove her off - to break away and kick for the surface, which he knew wasn’t far at all if he could just get his feet under him - but her body was slippery and he couldn't find purchase, and her hair was winding around his legs. Water seeped into his mouth around the edges of her kiss and Stiles knew that drowning was one of the worst ways to go; knew how slow and agonizing it was. Fear gripped him and he struggled harder, not knowing what else to do.

Suddenly, Lechsinska was ripped away from him, shrieking and wailing, and he could hear Lydia saying something in Polish in the background - a prayer? It sounded like a prayer - while someone carried him to the bank and set him on the sun-warmed mud. As Stiles was rolled onto his side, coughing violently as his lungs worked to expel the water they’d taken in, Lydia finished whatever she was saying and Lechsinska’s cries vanished. Suddenly hard hands were hauling him upright and Stiles was face-to-face with glowing red eyes and eyebrows of doom and a scowl that could curdle milk. _Derek._

“So...what does it say about me that that was _not_ the worst first kiss I’ve had with someone?” Stiles rasped out, voice hoarse and throat aching but sense of humor firmly intact.

Beside him, Scott - who’d been the one to drag him out of the water - started laughing. Lydia gave him a dry look and the rest of the pack - who were standing near the treeline, looking uncertain - rolled their eyes. Derek’s expression didn’t change. “Why were you in the water with her? How did she know your name? _We_ don’t even know your name, Stiles!”

“None of you could _pronounce_ my name.” Stiles muttered back, because it was true, dammit, and it _hurt_ when people butchered his given name because it reminded him that the one person who’d always been able to say it right was _dead_. “She told me her name, and it sounded Slavic at least if not Polish, so I gave her mine and she had no trouble with it. And she asked me to swim with her.”

“So you just did it?” Derek asked, and his eyebrows did that thing they did when he was trying to comprehend how someone could possibly be as stupid as they’d just proven themselves to be. _“Why?”_

“She seemed sad.” Stiles said, and his tone was defensive. “She didn’t seem _dangerous_ until you showed up and started snarling. She just seemed _sad,_ okay? Sad and lonely. Like she needed help.” He flicked his eyes to the water and asked. “What...what did you do to her?”

Lydia sighed. “Rusalki are unclean spirits, Stiles. I said a baptism in her native tongue. It put her soul to rest. It’s the only thing I _could_ do for her. You can’t kill a spirit, and Rusalki are killers.”

Stiles nodded, then sighed. “I get it. I guess I’m glad she’s at peace now, but she didn’t _seem_ like a killer. Not until she, you know, was actively trying to drown me.”

“They never do.” Scott pointed out, and Stiles had to agree.

Turning his head, Stiles glanced past Derek to the still, clear water and murmured. “We should go swimming, don’t you think?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, given how you just almost drowned, buddy.” Scott stood and pulled Stiles to his feet, frowning. “Hey, you okay? You look kind of...off.”

Suddenly Allison was in his field of vision, pressing her hand to his forehead with concern. “I think he’s in shock. We should get him back to the house and get him cleaned up and dried off, feed him, let him rest a bit. Hopefully that shakes it off, otherwise we’ll have to call your mom and see what she wants to do.” A plan of action having been agreed upon, Stiles was led carefully back through the woods, to Hale House.

No one but Derek noticed the way Stiles craned his head to watch the water until they were out of sight.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“You can start on the food.” Derek said as he placed his hands on Stiles’ shoulders, guiding him away from Scott and the others, and into his house. “We’ll be out as soon as Stiles stops smelling like the rusalka.”

Derek guided Stiles up the stairs and into the bathroom, turning the shower on before saying. “Get in. I’ll grab you a towel and something clean to wear. Your stuff was all dropped in the mud and Erica’s putting it in the washer for you.”

Derek listened to the steady sound of Stiles’ heartbeat as he grabbed a thick, fluffy towel from the linen closet in the hallway. He absently tracked the unfaltering sound as he walked back towards the bathroom, so the shock he felt when he walked in to find Stiles _drowning himself in the shower_ was doubly intense. Though he’d stepped into the shower stall, Stiles hadn’t bothered closing the tempered glass door; steam was slowly filling the entire bathroom. Stiles had his body leaning back against one shower wall, head tipped back, eyes closed and mouth open. The shower’s spray was washing over his face, water running into the younger man’s mouth, and as Derek watched, Stiles took a sizable breath _in_. Derek could hear his lungs spasming around the water, but Stiles’ heartbeat stayed steady and he made no move away from the water.

Without much thought, Derek grabbed Stiles and yanked him out of the shower, growling and tightening his hold when Stiles initially struggled against him. As Derek walked quickly out of the bathroom with Stiles - wet, naked, and worryingly chilled, despite the heat of the shower - thrown over his shoulder, something changed. Stiles began to cough, his body heaving, water gushing from his mouth as his lungs worked to expel the fluid. Derek stopped, halfway up the hallway, and lowered Stiles to the floor. He draped the towel he was still holding over Stiles as the teen began to shake and shiver, still coughing. His lips were a vague purplish-blue color and his eyes were glassy and dull, and Derek was genuinely worried.

“What the hell were you doing?” He growled, ears listening to the wet-sounding rasp of Stiles’ lungs. “Why would you try to drown yourself?”

“Couldn't move...” Stiles managed weakly around another chest-rattling cough. “I stepped under the spray...” Stiles paused to drag in a harsh breath that triggered another round of coughing. When he stopped, he seemed to be trying to breathe shallowly, despite how oxygen-starved his body undoubtedly felt. “Body froze. Felt...peaceful, even though...it hurt.”

Derek growled again and, knowing the rest of the pack had most-likely started listening the second Stiles started coughing, said. “Scott, call your mom. Isaac, get something for Stiles to wear. We’re bringing him to the hospital. I don’t like how his lungs sound. And someone call Deaton. I get the feeling this isn’t going to end here.”

A chorus of affirmatives from the wolves was enough to bring Derek’s attention back to Stiles, who was watching him with wide, honey-colored eyes. “I’m going to die, aren’t I?”

“No.” Derek snapped tersely. “We’re going to fix this.”

Stiles didn’t look like he believed Derek, but he nodded anyway. Derek let the disbelief slide. Stiles’ opinion didn’t make much difference in this case. Derek had no intention of losing _any_ of his pack. Not now; not after how hard he’d worked to build it. Not ever again.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“So what you’re saying is, i’m going to die.” Stiles wanted to curl up in a ball and cry with how unfair this whole mess was. He’d only been trying to help someone, after all.

Melissa had checked Stiles’ blood-oxygen levels and found them to be good, though she’d had a doctor prescribe him an antibiotic to help prevent him from getting sick and insisted all of the wolves pay close attention to Stiles’ breathing. If he got worse, they were to bring him straight back for reassesment and further treatment. No one dared argue with Melissa McCall. On their way to Deaton’s, Derek had called Stiles’ dad and filled him in on everything. The upside to the Sheriff knowing about the supernatural was that Stiles didn’t have to lie to him anymore. The downside was that no one else saw the need to lie to him _ever._ As a result, Stiles wound up in more trouble than he thought was strictly necessary. His dad also worried a lot more than Stiles would have liked. In this case, though, if he was doomed to die, Stiles figured it might be better for his dad to have a little warning.

It still sucked, though.

“I didn’t say that.” Deaton chided and Stiles _hated_ how he had to act all mysterious and omniscient. “I said that with the rusalka’s spirit at rest and unable to undo the magic, it needs to be countered by a spell of equal but opposite power.”

“Right, and everybody knows that the only thing that counters death-inducing magic is _love_.” Stiles snapped, because he wasn’t stupid and he’d followed Deaton’s explanation perfectly, thank you very much. He had easily read between the lines to what Deaton _hadn’t_ said as well. “Since love is considered the embodiment of life-magic, it’s the natural opposite. I don’t exactly have a significant other, Deaton. I also don’t have people lining up to date me. Never have. So if I need True Love’s Kiss to save the day here, I’m going to _drown._ ”

There was a pause, then Deaton shrugged. “It doesn’t necessarily have to be a kiss, Stiles, though that is the simplest form of enacting love magic. Any spell harnessing the power of love would obviously override the rusalka’s magic. Until such a spell is performed, you simply need to avoid water.”

“Water. As in _all_ water.” Stiles shared a disbelieving look with Scott. “I can’t take a shower, Doc. If I haven’t had prospects before now, how am I going to find someone when I haven’t bathed in days or, god, _weeks?_ Or even _longer._ And how big does the body of water have to be? If it rains, will I try to drown myself in it like I did with the shower?” Stiles’ voice was gaining in both speed and volume, pitch rising steadily as well, until he was speaking in a shrill sort of hyper-babbled shout. “Can I never have a glass of water again? I’m going to die of dehydration, aren’t I? I’m either going to drown or dry out. That’s _terrible._ This is all terrible!”

“You are not going to dehydrate, Mr. Stilinski.” Deaton sounded both amused and exasperated, but Stiles was too upset to properly appreciate having evoked that combination from the normally stoic druid. “Rusalki are tied to water specifically, meaning if you drink something like Gatorade you won’t feel compelled to inhale rather than swallowing. As to bathing, you’re going to have to do so with the absolute bare minimum of water, like a sponge or towel bath. I also advise having one of the stronger members of the pack present, to avoid any...possible negative consequences that might occur.”

Stiles pouted and snarked. “Like me sticking my head under the faucet, you mean.” Deaton didn’t say anything and Stiles let his head drop back, thumping heavily against the wall he was leaning on. “Great. Just great. I’m going to die a lonely, miserable, _smelly_ virgin. I’m going to somehow drown in a glass of water, or a sun shower. This is the most depressing thing ever.”

Sometimes, Stiles really hated his life.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“I wonder if it _has_ to be romantic love.” Lydia had been involved in the supernatural for the shortest amount of time of any of them, despite having various brushes with it almost from the start of the whole Scott-got-bitten mess, and as such she sometimes came at things from a different - more logical - angle. “I mean, isn’t _all_ love the embodiment of life-magic? If it was just romantic love, then sex-magic would probably be considered the antithesis to death magic as well, and it’s not, or we could just buy Stiles a prostitute to save him.”

“Craigslist would be cheaper.” Danny pointed out, which Stiles did _not_ find funny. “Though the hooker might be better looking.”

“I’m not having sex with a prostitute. What if we got caught and arrested? My dad’s the freakin’ Sheriff. He would _kill me._ ” Stiles could _feel_ the blush rising on his cheeks he was so mortified. “And I’m definitely not having sex with some random person from Craigslist. That’s how you get herpes.”

“Nobody’s going to give you herpes, Stiles, oh my god. You’re so dramatic.” Lydia rolled her eyes. “We’d obviously demand a clean bill of health for any life-saving magical hook-up partner we might enlist. We’re not stupid.” Then she added. “And I repeat, does it have to be romantic love or will any brand of love do the trick?”

Stiles shrugged uncertainly. “I don’t know. I mean, the True Love’s Kiss ritual requires romantic love, right, but I don’t know about other rituals for love magic. But, like, a lot of those rituals require a lot of preparation and specific timing and ingredients and stuff. It’s not throw-together magic, or insta-fix, like the kiss is.”

“So you’re saying we should start preparing a ritual _now,_ in case it takes a while to set up.” Lydia was ever the voice of logic and reason. Stiles figured he would always love that about her. “And hey, if somebody macks on you in the meantime and fixes it, great. But if not, we’ll at least have something else in place.”

“Like a protection ritual designed for a loved one?” Allison asked.

Stiles wasn’t surprised to see her swiping across her tablet’s screen as though flipping the pages in a book, because they - Allison, himself, Lydia, and Danny, as the “human contingent” of the pack, for all that Lydia _wasn’t_ \- had spent their Junior and Senior years uploading all of the texts they had to create a sort of digitalized library of supernatural information. Searching through dozens of tomes for a single paragraph of information was a hell of a lot easier when a computer did most of the work. Every book they had been able to get their hands on - from the Argents’ library, to Deaton’s collection, to whatever Derek and/or Peter had managed to stow away or reobtain, before or after the fire - was added. It took them a while, especially since a lot of it had to be translated, but the end result was satisfactory and existed as a series of files stored on a multitude of computers and devices, stashed away on several hidden usb flash drives, and backed up on at least three online cloud storage sites. Stiles refused to take any chances on their library being destroyed; not after listening to Peter lament time and again over books turned to ash in the fire that he was sure would have helped if they’d been available to them.

So Stiles figured Allison was just looking up spells and rituals, which made sense. Or love magic in general. Or maybe death magic counters. Or Rusalki. Stiles wasn’t sure, actually, because Allison had a very chaotic sort of research methodology. Stiles did too, for that matter, but in a different way. He liked to think of his mind as a place of “organized chaos”. Allison’s thought process, on the other hand, seemed almost entirely random. She still somehow managed to reach the correct answer fairly quickly, beating Stiles to it at least as often as Danny did, though not as often as Lydia. And no one reached the answer first more often than Stiles, but he did his best not to point that out or rub it in. It was nice to be needed, after all. This time...well.

This time, Stiles wasn’t even _looking_ for the answer. It was just too close to home for him. So he simply waited, relying on the other members of their little brain trust to figure something out. _‘Let them save my ass for once, instead of the other way around.’_ And if Stiles’ thoughts were a bit petulant and/or sullen, then that was no one’s business but his.

“Might depend on the spell.” Lydia murmured, yanking out her own tablet and asked. “Book and page? We should all look at the options together. Sort out what we think will work best.”

“Blood, Sex, and Magic.” Allison replied, and as Lydia pulled up the correct book on her tablet Danny opened it on the laptop he had in front of him. “The chapter on Family Magic. I thought maybe the brother-to-brother protection spell that’s listed...if Scott does it?”

“Hmmm...”

Lydia’s thoughtful hum was followed by Danny speaking up. “Will it work without shared blood between them? I mean, the magic is meant to rely on the blood connection between siblings. I don’t know if it’ll work without that, no matter how they feel about each other.”

“We could modify it.” Lydia had that look on her face; the one she got when she was doing complex equations in her head. “We don’t want blood magic anyway, we want love magic. So we tweak the ingredients and the wording so the magic relies on Scott’s intense brotherly love for Stiles, rather than on a blood bond.”

Stiles sighed and grabbed Allison’s tablet from her hands, grateful when she didn’t do anything other than raise an eyebrow at him. He figured he must look pretty pitiful for that to be the case, and pushed that thought away in favor of skimming the pages they were all looking at. “This has to be done on Litha.”

“Well, that doesn’t give us much time, does it?” Lydia said, smiling sharply. “I would suggest we make this as speedy a set-up as we can without screwing anything up.”

“Lydia, Litha is in _four days.”_ Stiles couldn't help hissing the words at her, because that wasn’t enough time. Not to modify _and_ prepare the ritual.

Lydia just shrugged, effortlessly careless. “Yes, Stiles, I’m aware of the timeline. Saturday was Whitsuntide, the first day of a Slavic celebration tied strongly to the rusalki, which explains why one was out of the water yesterday and wandering about, hunting as it were. They can only leave the water at certain times, after all.” She flicked a page on her tablet, then added. “And from Whitsuntide to Litha is only six days, after all. It’s already Monday, and we have until Friday, no later, or we’ll need to try a weaker ritual. So. Let’s get moving, shall we?”

Yeah; Stiles definitely hated his life. But...his packmates were pretty awesome.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Thursday saw most of the ingredients for the spell gathered. Oil made from patchouli, hyssop, lavender, and mugwort was mixed up, ready to anoint the poppet Lydia had talked Scott through making on Tuesday by twisting corn husks together into a rough person-shaped thing. They’d baked it on low heat for almost an entire day to dry it out quickly, then Scott had very carefully used his claws as tweezers to settle a lock of Stiles’ hair in the heart of the poppet without damaging the now-delicate husks forming it. Wednesday, Lydia had forced Scott to draw the protection sigil they’d settled on over and over, to make sure he could draw it perfectly from memory. Two concentric circles, four directional arrows that touched at their bases, points facing outwards towards the circles’ edges, and four more arrows following the inner circle’s curve, counterclockwise, wiggly as though drawn by an unsteady hand. She still wasn’t thrilled with Scott’s artistic capabilities, but she thought he could do it well enough to make it count, provided he focused on the intent behind the drawing.

The Hale House was the standard choice for all things magical, and Lydia had agreed that having the ritual performed in _their den_ \- as she phrased it - was best, as it would layer Derek’s protective instincts as Stiles’ alpha over Scott’s ritualized brotherly intent. As she’d told Derek when commandeering use of one of the spare bedrooms (the one Stiles used when staying over, as each pack member had chosen their own during the planning stage of rebuilding), _‘Any extra bit of power helps.’_ Not that Derek had planned on refusing to allow them to do the ritual there, anyway; he was fully in support of the ritual and had directed his betas to follow Lydia’s instructions _perfectly._ They were under strict orders to fetch her anything she and the other humans decided was required for Scott to do the ritual, without protest or complaint. Lydia had been preening over being given alpha-like authority, even temporarily.

Derek stopped in the doorway to Stiles’ room on Thursday evening. The younger man had been staying in it, surrounded by the pieces of the spell Scott would use the next day. Derek had decided - and everyone, including John and Melissa had agreed - that Stiles would be safest surrounded by his pack, who could stop him if the magic tried to make him hurt himself. So Stiles was lying across the bed, and the smell of various herbs tickled Derek’s nose, twining around the smell of _Stiles,_ which had never been so concentrated before. But then, nearly a week without a shower had made it so even the humans could scent Stiles if they wanted to; to the wolves, it was nearly overwhelming. Which was why Stiles was hiding in his room, rather than watching movies with everyone else. He had gotten sick of everyone wrinkling their noses, and of Peter’s lewd comments about all the things he could smell on Stiles’ skin.

Derek had growled to shut his uncle up, but Stiles had fled regardless. Now, Derek surveyed the room, taking stock of things. The protection oil, the poppet, the chalk for Scott to draw the sigil with...all these were resting neatly on top of the room’s small dresser. Scattered along the windowsill, soaking up the last rays of the day’s sun, were a series of crystals and stones. Black onyx laid side-by-side with coppery green malachite and clear quartz. A large chunk of obsidian was nestled between an amethyst point as long as Derek’s whole hand - fingers and all - and a massage wand made of soft, gleaming white selenite. And in the center of the sill, gleaming like freshly spilled blood, was a faceted, round medallion as wide as Derek’s palm. Derek wasn’t sure where Peter had found the thing, but when Lydia had tasked the former-alpha with finding her the largest ruby he could, the older wolf hadn’t failed to deliver.

Bundles and glass vials of various herbs were scattered across several of the shelves of one of the room’s bookshelves. Derek’s nose twitched as he sorted through the scents he recognized. There was hyssop, and rue, and the strong scent of sage. The clean smell of pine tangled with mistletoe - a scent that always made Derek wary, though not as much as wolfsbane - and mugwort. There was vetivert, and agrimony; basil and St. John’s wort, wormwood and Solomon’s seal; black thorn and patchouli. And none of these, strong as they were, came close to covering the way Stiles smelled.

Derek would be lying if he said he’d never noticed Stiles’ scent before. He was intimately familiar with the scent of each and every member of his pack, after all. It was part of his responsibility as an alpha; he had to be able to recognise his betas - werewolf or otherwise - even from a distance.

For instance, Scott smelled like the potential for power, and like Allison and mating, and like Stiles and Melissa and the Sheriff in a way that said family beyond the ways that pack did, and like the animal clinic - antiseptic and illness and animals - and like contentment and strength and trust. Derek already knew Scott would one day be an alpha in his own right and he knew he would be simultaneously proud and grief-stricken the day that happened and he had to let the younger wolf go to form his own pack. He selfishly hoped it would be years before it happened. Allison smelled like gunpowder and danger, like Scott and mating, like both threat and safety in the same breath, and human. She smelled very human. Danny smelled like his family - like wolves who weren’t Derek’s pack, but who Danny had come from and belonged to before belonging to Derek - and like Jackson in the same way Scott smelled of Stiles - brothers, but not. Jackson and Lydia smelled of each other, of mating in a way that went beyond sex and teenage hormones and into something that spoke of forever, and they smelled like their parents, and Jackson’s scent was forever tinged by the reptilian form he’d once had - a coldness beneath the wolf’s skin that he couldn't shake off or warm up and probably never would.

Isaac smelled like _desperation_ and _hurt_ and _fear_ in a way not even years with Derek and a pack could completely erase; in a way that said he would never stop worrying about being left alone or about them turning on him suddenly and without warning. He smelled like a child, despite being legally an adult like all the others, and he smelled like clinginess and a wanting that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with belonging and being loved and feeling safe. Isaac smelled like pack to a level none of the others did, because Isaac was the most-likely to touch - to scent-mark - everyone else equally. Isaac smelled like all of them in a way that said he was afraid of what it might mean if he _didn’t._ Isaac smelled like eagerness, and overwhelming joy at having a pack to love him, and a sort of edgy rightness that came from being afraid of one’s own happiness.

Erica and Boyd smelled like mates in a way that said their wolves were as happy as the human parts of them, and while Erica smelled reckless and wild, Boy smelled calm and settled. The two complimented each other, their scents contradictory but wrapped tightly together until they somehow made sense. Erica’s scent was peppered with perfume and hairspray and leather, while Boyd’s was lined with cooking smells and the forest and fresh, clean rain. Erica smelled like freedom and Boyd smelled like coming home, and somehow they went together even though they probably shouldn’t. Derek could separate their scents in his mind and determine which parts came from which beta, but he hadn’t smelled one without the other for years. Derek wasn’t sure he’d ever known two people who smelled as much like each other - almost identical, most of the time - as Erica and Boyd. Derek loved the fact that his betas were such a perfect match for each other, and was pleased for the part he’d played in bringing them together.

Peter smelled like family, and like death - not in a murdery way, but in a way that spoke of having been gone from the world before returning to it. He smelled like Derek’s childhood; like memories no one else shared; like blood ties that couldn't be severed no matter how many mistakes either of them made. Peter smelled like regret - though rarely of remorse - and he smelled like smugness and superiority. Peter smelled like ash in the same way Derek thought the forest around the rebuilt Hale House would probably always smell like ash - not because it truly did, but because Derek could never shake the association completely. Peter smelled faintly like Talia, and Derek knew he did too though he couldn't really smell it on himself the way he could on Peter, and that came from shared genetics the same way eye or hair color did. Peter smelled like wine and strange sex and tobacco smoke; he smelled like the places he slipped off to when he couldn't be around Derek or the pack or Hale House anymore; he smelled like temptation and obscenity and things Derek did his best not to think about. Peter smelled like sin personified, and Derek would ask him to leave and never return just to get the scent out of his nose if it weren’t for the fact that he was all Derek had left of the family he’d lost.

Stiles...

Stiles was _different_. He smelled like Scott, and John, and Melissa. He smelled like the others in their pack, which was unsurprising given that he tended to hang on anyone and everyone, if they’d only stand still long enough. Even Jackson had been known to wind up with a lapful of Stiles every now and then, though that usually ended with Jackson shoving the flailing teen onto the ground and bitching while Stiles laughed himself breathless over how red Jackson’s face got. Derek had found himself on the receiving end of Stiles’ casual touches more times than he could really count - Stiles resting his head on Derek’s lap during pack movie nights, or resting his chin on Derek’s shoulder as they looked at the same website or book for research reasons, or simply sitting with their legs pressed together under the dining room table, the whole pack wedged in closer than humans would normally find comfortable, because personal space wasn’t really a _thing_ in packs, even for non-wolves. Stiles smelled like the Adderall he took to keep himself somewhat focused, unless he’d skipped a dose or two or twelve, though the wolves had taken to reminding him whenever there wasn’t enough of the medication in his blood to catch a whiff of it. He usually smelled like too much body spray in that way teenage boys typically grew out of by age sixteen, when they realized suffocating their dates in a cloud of aerosolized artificial scent was a _bad_ thing, but which Stiles had never seemed to get the memo on despite years spent with werewolves sensitive to smell. Stiles smelled like loss, and like grief, and - despite the fact that Derek knew how adored Stiles was by the pack - like loneliness. He smelled like teenage boy - like lust and hormones and eagerness; like sweat and precome and the faintest remnants of lube; like all the things Derek had been taught you didn’t mention because humans valued privacy and the illusion that people didn’t know if you were horny all the time and taking care of it yourself. He smelled like loam, and ozone, and petrichor; like damp earth, and the air after a storm, and the relief that came from rain after a long drought. Stiles smelled like the forest Derek had run in as a child, too young to control the shift or his senses; when he’d been more wolf than human, and was still learning what it meant to be either let alone both.

More than that, he somehow smelled like everything Derek had ever loved. Like all of the things about Paige’s scent that had drawn him in and made him believe it was worth the risk to turn her, if it meant they could be together forever. Like everything he’d loved best about Laura - the kindness and loyalty of her, and the fondness, and all of the ways she’d made him feel settled in his own skin just by being there; just by being his sister. Like the strength of Kate which had lured him in, sexy and seductive and promising she could take care of herself and he’d never have to worry about losing her; like the brutality of her honesty, cutting and cruel and somehow _so_ sweet after all the lies Derek had grown up having to tell, because of what he’d been born. Like his strongest memories of his mother; the way Talia had smelled like the outdoors and home at the same time, appealing to both the human and wolf parts of her family. The way she had smelled the way moonlight felt - compelling and soothing and controlling all at once - and the way something in her scent always calmed the wildest parts of him, reminding him that he was safe with her, always. Not because she was his mother, or because she was his alpha, but simply because she was _her_. Tangled up with all of that was something that was purely _Stiles;_ something that wound itself around all of the other things, and bound them together, and made up him.

Derek knew what that meant. He had always known what it meant, that Stiles smelled the way he did to him, because he wasn’t stupid and he hadn’t been _that_ young when Kate had slaughtered his family, and Talia had done her best to make sure her children would recognize a potential lifemate if they met them. Not every wolf did; not every wolf was so lucky because the world was a vast place with far too many people in it. So wolves - especially born ones like the Hales - took lifemates very seriously. If you smelled someone who made every part of you strain to get closer - who smelled like they were custom-made to appeal to you - then you made the effort to bring them into the pack. You did your best to make that person happy; to make them _yours_. Walking away from someone who could satisfy both sides of a dual nature was a foolish thing to do, not to mention agonizing.

Derek, for his part, had never let himself entertain thoughts of keeping Stiles. Not until Stiles’ eighteenth birthday, anyway. But by then Stiles had been talking about college, and his eagerness to get out of Beacon Hills - at least for a little while - and stretch himself out. He wanted the chance to be something other than _‘The Sheriff’s Kid’_ or the spastic, inattentive one; the one who talked too much and focused too little and never seemed to apply himself in the right ways at the right time. Stiles had gone on about how guys like him were weird in high school but appreciated in college, and he was eager to have that be the case. He wanted to sleep around, and get drunk, and go to wild parties. He wanted to make friends with people who hadn’t seen the way he fell apart when his mom died; people who hadn’t known him as the other side of Scott’s coin; who hadn’t watched him pine for a girl who would never love him as anything but a friend from the time he was seven until he was sixteen. Stiles wanted a chance to be himself, outside of the shadow of his entire life up to that point.

So Derek bit his tongue and held himself back and reminded himself that Stiles was adamant about _‘coming home’_ after college was done. Provided Stiles came home alone, Derek would have all the time in the world to convince the younger man of everything Derek had been certain of since before he was willing to allow himself to think of Stiles that way at all.

Most days, Derek handled it with ease. Most days, Derek’s control was impeccable - taught at his mother’s knee from the moment he was born and honed through years of guilt and grief and blinding rage - and it was a matter of nothing at all, really, to keep his feelings contained. Most days...

Most days, Stiles’ scent was covered up by a thousand things that made it easier, though Derek had never realized it before. Soap, and shampoo, which not only covered it faintly for a number of hours after Stiles showered but which washed away the accumulated scent from _before_ the shower. People and things he interacted with, even just in passing, layering over his own scent however faintly, but Stiles had barely left the Hale House since everything had happened because...well, because it was _safer_. Not to mention the pack Stiles now barely smelled of, because they’d slowly withdrawn from Stiles the longer he went without a proper washing - not because he smelled _badly_ , but simply because he smelled so much more strongly like himself and it was different. Most people washed their own scent off daily, never letting it accumulate to the point where you could smell it from across the room - or even a room or two away - unless you were really _trying_ , but Stiles’ scent was just _building_. It was saturating the room he slept in, and anything he touched, in a way that seemed like marking and claiming, and that was disorienting for the pack because only their alpha should be doing that in their den; doing that to them. At least, on that level, anyway.

Not that Stiles was doing it on purpose. The fact remained, however, that Stiles not only smelled like everything Derek had ever wanted, he was literally _dripping_ with it. Not only that, he was layering it all over Derek’s home in a way that felt like he was writing _‘MINE!’_ across everything Derek owned.

“You gonna come in, or say whatever you’re here to say, or just keep lurking in the doorway like the creeper-wolf we all know you to be?”

Derek could feel himself blushing, but he took a step into Stiles’ room before stopping, every muscle in his body tensed to the point of discomfort. “I...wanted to make sure you’re okay. You just...walked off.”

The _again_ was left unsaid, but the look on Stiles’ face said he’d heard it anyway. His mouth twisted like he’d tasted something sour and a strange tension pinched the corners of his eyes. When he spoke, his words came out bitter and sharp. “Sitting in a room where everyone’s shying away from you because you stink isn’t exactly fun. I figured I’d spare everyone the discomfort of being around me.”

“You don’t smell _bad_.” Derek said, softly, because the self-loathing in every line of Stiles’ face and body was painful to see.

Stiles never saw himself clearly. That hadn’t changed in the years since Derek had first met him, not even once the people around him started realizing how nicely he was filling out - growing into too-long legs and too-broad shoulders, until he was lithe and muscled rather than gangling and stretched too thin - and Derek wanted desperately to tell him how beautiful he was, but knew he couldn't. It wouldn’t be fair. Stiles deserved a chance to leave behind the way he’d always seen himself - the way he’d always been seen - and figure out who he was _now_ , without anything holding him back. Derek reminded himself that he was a patient man. He could wait.

“You’re breathing shallowly, through your mouth.” Stiles pointed out, sounding like he was trying for casual and amused but falling short of the mark. “You can’t even come in the room properly. You think I didn’t noticed the way you moved across the room any time I got close the last couple of days? It’s pretty obvious, Derek. And hey, it’s fine, really, because hopefully by tomorrow night I’ll be able to shower again and then none of you will have to worry about me reeking of sweaty teenage boy funk, or whatever the hell I smell like right now to your ultra-sensitive wolfy noses.”

“You don’t smell bad.” Derek repeated, because he didn’t know what else he was supposed to say. “You just smell _strongly_ and yes, Stiles, it’s overwhelming. Scent means something to wolves. It means things it doesn’t to humans; things it _can’t_ because it’s not the same for you. You’re unintentionally scent-marking everything you touch right now. You’re staking claim on everything and everyone around you, whether you realize it or not, and it’s uncomfortable for them because...because this is _my_ den and it’s...they’re _my_ betas and...” Derek faltered, because Stiles looked angry all of a sudden, so he muttered. “It’s complicated, okay? I don’t mind that you’re leaving your scent everywhere, just...”

Derek huffed and rolled his eyes and said. “It’s instinct for them to pull back. To retreat. It’s not your fault, though, any more than it’s theirs.”

“What, is that some kind of bullshit wolfy way of saying I smell bad without risking hurting my feelings by actually saying I smell bad?” Stiles’ voice hadn’t lost its sharp, biting edge but the bitterness had melted into anger. “Just tell the human he’s leaking scent everywhere and it’s just _too much_ even if it’s not _bad?_ People don’t smell good when they can’t get clean. That’s a fact.” He gave Derek one last, nasty look before flopping backwards on the bed and closing his eyes, adding. “Never would’ve expected you to sugarcoat anything, Derek. Get out, please.”

It shouldn’t have mattered. Derek shouldn’t have cared what Stiles thought, or if Stiles was misreading the whole situation because he was human and he could never _really_ understand no matter how many times Derek explained it. It bothered him, though. Bothered him that Stiles thought Derek was repulsed by his scent, when nothing could be further from the truth. Bothered him that Stiles thought he would _lie_ about this; about something as important to wolves as scent was.

Before he could stop himself Derek was dropping fang, eyes burning red as he crossed the room. Clawed fingers fisted in the front of Stiles’ shirt as he hauled the younger man up off the bed.

“What the fuck, Derek?” Stiles’ hands scrabbled uselessly against Derek’s wrists, and that slim body stretched as Stiles tried to keep his toes planted on the floor despite the way Derek was holding him up by the twisted material clenched in his fists. “Put me down! What the hell is your problem?”

“Proving a point.” Derek growled, keeping his shift as minimal as he could given how out of control he felt; his face wasn’t shifted, he knew, but he could do nothing about the mouthful of sharp teeth he was speaking around or the claws puncturing the tee-shirt he had no doubt Stiles would demand he replace or the blood-red color he was positive his eyes were. “I don’t lie about scents, Stiles. Not to pack.”

Stiles stared at Derek, whiskey colored eyes wide and wary. “Yeah, okay. Fine. I don’t smell bad. Can you put me down now, please?”

But Derek could hear the skip in Stiles’ heartbeat; could smell the way his scent went funny around the edges with his disbelief; his self-doubt. “Don’t try to bullshit a werewolf, Stiles.” Derek moved Stiles closer to him, then breathed in deeply through his nose and growled. “Do you see me flinching away? Do I look disgusted to you?”

“No, you look pissed off.” Stiles muttered, leaning back, face twisted with panic and nervous energy and something Derek couldn't place. “Seriously, dude, put me down. Why the hell do you care so much if I believe you or not?”

“Because you don’t even realize how insulting you’re being.” Derek gave Stiles a little shake, growling again. “You don’t understand what it would say about me if I lied to a pack member about their scent. I can choose to say nothing about it for the sake of privacy - mine, or theirs - or to spare someone embarrassment, but to outright _lie_ about is...wolves don’t _do that_ , Stiles.”

Stiles swallowed hard - Derek could hear his throat clicking - and asked weakly. “What do I smell like? I asked Scott once, but he said it...he said it was too weird. Wouldn’t answer me.”

Derek sighed, claws and fangs retracting as the red faded from his eyes. He carefully set Stiles on his feet, watching as the younger man sank down to sit on the edge of the mattress and blink up at him. “Your scent is the most intimate thing about you. Wolves don’t really talk about them. It’s like...like...there’s literally not even a human equivalent because of how _complicated_ scent is.” Derek twitched a little in place, Stiles’ scent so strong in the air between them he could nearly taste it, and struggled to explain something the were-members of his pack simply understood, like instinct. “There’s some things about it your parents or siblings can tell you, and other things it’s okay to say to a friend, but the rest...it’s _intimate_. The kind of thing you say to your partner; to your mate. The kind of thing it’s impolite to say to someone normally. Some of it would be almost obscene, even if it didn’t sound that way to _you._ ”

Stiles blinked, and Derek wondered absently how his eyes could go from golden to chocolate and back again the way they did; wondered how anyone could ever think brown eyes were _boring_ , because on Stiles they were anything but. “I don’t mind.” Stiles said, and there was a funny quality to his words that made Derek’s heartbeat quicken.

His head was swimming from Stiles’ scent, the air thick with it, and he was having trouble thinking clearly. Stiles was still talking, but Derek could barely focus on his words. “I mean, if it makes you uncomfortable then I guess nevermind, but...I don’t know, I just...I spend most of my time around wolves, right? And it’s frustrating knowing they know something about me that I don’t know about myself. I don’t know what you guys smell when you’re near me, and I don’t have any way to find out really, except asking one of you, and if it’s inappropriate...I don’t know, I mean, I guess I could ask Peter. I doubt he’d care about if it was proper or not to answer, so...what the _actual fuck_ , Derek?”

And Derek couldn't blame Stiles for his sudden outburst, because he’d basically lunged at Stiles while growling fiercely, barely restraining the shift _again_. The very idea of Peter telling Stiles how he smelled...analyzing all the most intimate details of it the way he no doubt would...Derek couldn't bear it, and he _knew_ Stiles would do it just as he knew Peter would undoubtedly answer, propriety be damned. So Derek wound up straddling Stiles’ stomach, the teen sprawled across the mattress underneath him, flailing and squawking out protests while Derek buried his face in Stiles’ throat and breathed in deep. As he ran the tip of his nose from Stiles’ collarbone to the spot just behind his ear, Stiles whimpered and went still, panting heavily in Derek’s ear as a shiver wracked his whole body. Derek growled and breathed in again, struggling to keep his wolf leashed as it savored the way Stiles’ scent had gone hot with arousal, liquid and slick around the edges in away that made Derek want to sink his teeth in and never let go.

“Wh...what are you doing?” Stiles whispered, holding his body in a way that said he wasn’t sure what Derek would do if he tried to move.

“I...” Derek sighed against the vulnerable skin above Stiles’ fluttering pulse before breathing in deeply again. Since he didn’t know how to say that he had no idea what the hell he was doing, he muttered. “I’m answering your question. Against my better judgement.”

“O-oh.” Stiles throat clicked around another hard swallow, then he asked in a whisper. “So...what do I smell like?”

For a long moment, Derek struggled with the answer. He knew he could list all of the things Stiles smelled like to him, including the things that didn’t make sense because how the hell could some of those things even _have_ a scent, but that wouldn’t really explain. It wouldn’t help Stiles understand. Derek wasn’t sure any words would; that any words _could_. But he had promised to try.

“First, you need to understand that you smell different - at least a little - to each of us.” Derek wanted to make that clear; to make sure Stiles understood that this wasn’t a universal answer. “But, _to me_ , you smell like pack, and family, and belonging.” Derek started with those, because those things were easiest to explain; to make Stiles understand the feelings they evoked. “There’s safety and warmth in your scent. A familiarity that says I can’t get lost - that I can’t lose myself - when you’re around.

“You smell like...like rich, damp earth, and ozone, and petrichor. You smell salty from sweat, and faintly like...” It took Derek a second, after cutting himself off, because humans got embarrassed and wolves didn’t - not about the same things, anyway - and he wanted to phrase this right. “Faintly, there’s a trace of all the other bodily things that are a part of everyone’s scent, though it’s a little stronger on you because you haven’t showered in days. Normally there’s soap and shampoo layered over you, but right now there’s not so you smell clean. Not...not clean like _soap and water and no germs_ clean, but...” Derek was struggling for how to explain this, and it wasn’t easy because there were some things there just weren’t words for, only feelings, but he _tried_. “Clean like it’s all _you_. Clean like there’s nothing chemical or artificial layered there. You smell like things you can’t possibly understand; like kindness and honesty and strength. Things I couldn't tell you anything about other than the way they make me feel when I smell them. You smell like forest in a way that says _home_ , and like the moon when it’s at its peak and it makes me feel wild and centered at the same time.” 

“Derek...” Stiles breathed his name like a prayer; like a benediction; like a plea.

“Hush.” Derek’s voice was laced with a growl, but there was no anger or aggression in it. “You asked, now let me answer.”

He felt Stiles nod from where his face was still buried against Stiles’ throat, and nuzzled there for a moment just to listen to the change in Stiles’ heartbeat; to catalogue the differences in Stiles’ smell.

“Arousal.” Derek murmured and Stiles made a soft, mortified noise; embarrassment colored his scent with a sort of washed out variance and Derek continued in a low voice. “You always smell like low-grade arousal, because you’re a teenager. Most of the pack is the same. Right now, though, it’s...hot, and thick, and almost syrupy. There’s a sweetness to it, a sort of liquid slickness, that makes me think about things I shouldn’t. God, Stiles, you smell like a thousand things I can’t begin to make you understand, but more than that you smell like _mine."_

Stiles moaned softly, then whimpered, his body going twitchy and restless beneath Derek. “Der, I...I don’t understand. Is that...new? I don’t...why do I smell like I’m yours? What...what does that even _mean?”_

“Not new.” Derek admitted, and he finally lifted his head enough to meet Stiles’ eyes; eyes so bright they rivaled beta-gold. “And it...it doesn’t have to mean anything. Not to you.”

“But it means something to you.” Stiles guessed, and Derek nodded slowly. “It...you...were you ever going to tell me this? Any of it?”

“Of course I was.” Derek snapped, bristling a little at the accusation. “But you were a minor when we met, Stiles, and now you’re going to college.You deserve a chance to explore. To figure yourself out. I’d planned on telling you when you came home.” 

Stiles blinked, then said dully. “When I came home. From _college_. Four years from now.” Derek nodded and Stiles asked tersely. “What if I went off to college and met someone? Brought them home to marry, to start a life and a family with? What then?” 

Derek wanted to growl; wanted to _snarl_. His eyes flashed and his fangs and claws made an appearance for a few seconds before he took a deep breath and got them under control. As evenly as he could manage, he said. “I would have let you be happy, Stiles." 

“Yeah, that’s totally what that looked like.” Stiles snarked, and part of Derek wanted to grin at the lack of fear Stiles showed but most of him was just annoyed, because Stiles never could take anyone’s word for anything; he always had to push and poke and prod to see what was underneath whatever they were saying. “Your wolf doesn’t seem to agree.” 

Derek shrugged and looked away, because Stiles wasn’t wrong exactly, but he wasn’t _right_ either. “My wolf’s instinct is to claim, regardless of anything else. But I’m not _just_ a wolf, Stiles, and your happiness matters to me, more than any hurt or jealousy or anger ever could. I’d let you be happy, even if it meant you were with someone else.” 

“Well aren’t you selfless.” Stiles sounded sour and unhappy; he smelled much the same. “And I suppose I just don’t get a say in any of this, then. If I said fuck finding myself, and experimenting in college, and being wild and reckless and free and whatever else you seem to think I’m going to do, you’d just ignore me and go right back to being a stupid sourwolf martyr, wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t know.” Derek admitted, because although he’d kept a lot of things from Stiles he had very rarely outright lied to him and he had no plans to start. “I don’t know if I can even walk out of this room right now, Stiles, because you smell...” Derek sucked in a deep breath and let it out on a soft whine. “God, I can’t get it out of my head. It’s all over _everything_ right now, and here, in this room, with you...”

Stiles took a shaky breath, Derek listening to the way his heart went frantic with nerves, then he said. “It’s not _everywhere_. I haven’t been in your room at all.”

There was a long moment where neither of them moved - where no one even seemed to _breathe_ \- and then Stiles squeaked in surprise when Derek was suddenly striding out of the bedroom carrying Stiles, bridal style. “What are you doing, oh my god, you need to put me down! Derek, what if one of the others sees this?”

Derek froze, right outside the door to his room, and looked down at Stiles. He studied Stiles’ anxious face for a moment, then asked quietly. “Do you not want anyone knowing we...that we...” He paused, uncertain what he was even trying to say, then tried again. “ _Are_ we...”

When he stopped again, wary, Stiles whispered. “We...we can be. If you want to be, I mean. I didn’t...I _don’t_ know if you want everyone knowing. I mean...scrawny, sarcastic, mostly useless human here. No one ever looks twice at me, so I...if you don’t want them to know, I understand.”

“I want them to know.” 

Stiles swallowed, mouth suddenly too dry, then nodded. “O-okay, then.” He cleared his throat awkwardly, then something mischievous sparked into life in his eyes. Before Derek could wonder what the infuriating and impossible and completely perfect teenager in his arms was going to do, Stiles threw his head back and half-shouted, half-moaned. “Oh god, Derek, fuck me harder!”

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, suddenly, there was a crash from downstairs, the sound of running footsteps, a pained yelp as someone tackled whoever was running - Erica, if Derek had to guess - and then Scott’s voice shouting. “Get out of the fucking hallway and into a room, holy shit, we do _not_ want to hear you two! It’s like hearing your parents have sex!”

“Fuck you, McCall, _I_ want to hear them!” And yes, Derek was 100% certain that it was Erica who’d been running towards the stairs, eager for a peek, and if that wasn’t embarrassing as fuck he didn’t know what was. “Way to go, Stiles! Whoo!”

Stiles was laughing as quietly as he could, face bright red and eyes watering, so Derek growled and snapped. “If any of you disturb us before morning, I’ll rip your intestines out through your throat.” He wasn’t loud, but the chorus of agreements from his betas said he’d been heard and that was all that mattered.

Still growling, Derek stepped into his room, kicking the door shut behind himself. As soon as they were inside the soundproofed - as all the bedrooms were - room, Stiles burst into delighted laughter. And part of Derek wanted to be angry, because Stiles was such a little shit and that had been completely horrible of him to do. It undermined Derek’s authority as alpha, and it turned their relationship into a potential joke for the pack, and Derek wasn’t sure how he’d look any of the betas in the eye again after that.

_But._

But Stiles had just shouted that he was willingly being fucked - a bit preemptively but still - by Derek Hale, in a bid to inform their pack of the intimate connection they were forming. Stiles was eager to let the people who mattered most to the both of them know that they were together. Stiles was in his arms, laughing and loose-limbed and smelling happy and horny and ridiculously smug, and Derek couldn't imagine anything better. He didn’t stop to think; didn’t hesitate. He leaned back against the door, Stiles cradled comfortably against his chest, and lowered his head to catch that laughing mouth with his.

Stiles froze for a moment, his heartbeat faltering before picking up speed. When Derek started to lift his head, the teenager whimpered and reached up, hands tangling in Derek’s dark hair as he chased the older man’s mouth, tugging the soft strands to bring Derek back to where he wanted him. Derek didn’t resist, instead brushing their mouths together a second time. It could have been fierce, and fiery, and passionate. Derek could easily have allowed Stiles’ eagerness to control the pace of things, mouths desperate and greedy. He didn’t, though. Derek had waited for this for years - had expected to wait years more before having it - and he had no intention of rushing things. He kept his lips a firm but controlled pressure against Stiles; licked along that maddeningly full lower lip in teasing flicks; let his teeth close lightly on the tip of Stiles’ tongue when he tried to deepen the kiss with a throaty, strangled-sounding moan.

Derek laughed when Stiles made a frustrated sound and crossed the room to drop the teenager onto the bed. He bounced twice before settling, staring up at Derek with wide eyes and flushed cheeks, full lips spit-slick and parted around panted breaths. Derek grinned - knew it showed too-many teeth; knew his eyes flashed red; _knew Stiles wouldn’t care_ \- and followed the younger man onto the mattress, straddling the teen’s hips before leaning down to capture his mouth again.

This time, the kiss was years of pent-up lust - both Stiles and Derek’s. As Derek licked into Stiles’ mouth, the sound of tearing fabric filled the air. Stiles sucked in a stunned breath, turning his head and breaking the kiss to look at where Derek’s claws had shredded through the sheets and mattress beside his head. He turned back to stare up at Derek, eyes wide, and Derek wondered for a moment where Stiles’ unpredictable brain would land this time - on fear, or revulsion, or acceptance. Then Stiles’ pupils dilated and a small, keening whine passed his lips and Derek realized there had never really been another option. Stiles had been surrounded by wolves for years now; if he wanted Derek, he wanted _all_ of him - fangs, claws, and red eyes included.

Digging his claws further into the bedding - because fuck it, it was already ruined - Derek dropped his head down to the curve of Stiles’ shoulder and nuzzled in, breathing deep. “I love that you know what I am.” Derek rumbled, words laced with a growl he couldn't quite suppress while on-edge. “I love that you’re not afraid of me.”

Stiles laughed, low and breathless and tangled around a moan as Derek’s tongue and teeth and lips did their best to mark the pale expanse of his throat. “Who’s afraid of the big, bad wolf?” Stiles teased, and Derek loved the hitch to his breathing and the racing cadence of his heart and the way his hips stuttered up when Derek nipped at the top curve of his ear. “Not this human. Not in this story.”

“Fuck...” Derek whispered on a shaky exhale, grinding down to meet Stiles’ uncoordinated thrust up. When Stiles swore under his breath, hips pushing up again, Derek snarled and threw himself backwards, off of the teen _and_ the bed.

~*~*~*~

One second Stiles was being delightfully mauled, the next he was alone on the bed. Before Stiles could protest, Derek was barking. “Strip! Now, Stiles. Clothes. Off.”

“Oh fuck yeah...” Stiles managed, panting, eyes riveted on where Derek’s hands were working open the front of his jeans, the alpha’s shirt in shredded strips on the floor around his bare feet.

Stiles didn’t tear his eyes away even as he shoved down the loose sweatpants he had on, kicking them towards the bottom of Derek’s bed almost absentmindedly. His tee-shirt was thrown somewhere over the edge of the mattress, and then Stiles was naked. He’d have been more self-conscious if most of his capacity for rational thought hadn’t been taken up by the sight of an equally naked Derek Hale. Derek, who was every bit as gorgeous as the first time Stiles had seen him without a shirt on. Derek, who worked out more than anyone Stiles had ever met - werewolf, human, or other - and _holyshitfuck_ did it show. Derek, whose eyes were glowing red, and who had his claws out, and who was staring at Stiles like _he_ was the desirable one. Derek, who Stiles knew could have anyone he wanted but who somehow wanted _him_ , and holy hell, how was that even _possible_?

But Stiles had never pretended to be a good person - for all that he tried to act like one when he could - and he’d never pretended not to be selfish. Derek wanted him, and Stiles wasn’t going to let him go. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve Derek - was pretty damned sure he _didn’t_ , actually - but Stiles wasn’t about to let that stop him from grabbing on with both hands and holding tight. So Stiles let his eyes move over every inch of golden skin and rippling muscle. Took in the respectable - in both length and width - cock, which Stiles was intrigued to see was uncut. Admired the way Derek was mostly-hard and starting to leak, the tip of his cock peeking out of the retracting foreskin, glistening in a way that made Stiles wonder what he’d taste like.

“God, you’re beautiful.”

For a moment, Stiles was sure _he_ was the one who’d spoken, because...well, because Derek _was_ beautiful. From his Disney-prince hair, to his multi-colored eyes, to a face so heartbreakingly attractive Stiles couldn't believe random strangers weren’t throwing themselves at Derek’s feet on a daily basis, to the well-muscled body...and right down to Derek’s soul, which was as pure and bright and beautiful, despite all the pain in his life, as any Stiles had ever known. Derek was beautiful in every way, and on every level, possible.

So it took a long moment for him to realize that Derek was the one saying it. _About him_.

Stiles might have argued the point - he was contradictory by nature, after all - but Derek was once again joining him on the bed; once again straddling his hips. But this time, there was hot skin pressed against his and even more skin at his disposal and Derek’s hands were skimming up his sides and...

...and Stiles couldn't remember how to _breathe_ , let alone _think_ or _speak_. 

Derek leaned down and caught his mouth in a slow, drugging kiss. The air around Stiles felt heated and thick and syrupy, and Stiles wondered absently who had taught Derek to kiss like it was an art. He let his hands touch the small of Derek’s back, then slid them up until his short, blunt nails were digging into Derek’s shoulders. As Derek’s mouth shifted to press damp, sucking kisses along the sharp line of Stiles’ jaw while his hands stroked gently over Stiles’ ribs as though soothing him, Stiles wondered if it would always feel like this. This strange, heady mix of urgency and patience; of desperation and a desire to savor; of _want_ and _need_ and _must-have_ tangled up with _slow_ and _easy now_ and _there’s time_. He really hoped so.

Derek was nuzzling into his throat, breathing deeply, and Stiles whined softly at the realization that Derek was scenting him. He’d done his research; he knew how intimate scenting of this sort was for werewolves, and what it meant for Derek to be doing this. Stiles hips bucked up at the same time Derek shifted his weight - his mouth moving from Stiles’ throat to nip at the curve of his shoulder - and… _oh_.

Derek growled, apparently appreciating the new alignment of their bodies as much as Stiles did, and rocked his hips down. It was heated, and strange, and not nearly slick enough despite the way Stiles could feel the dampness from where the head of Derek’s cock was brushing against his own erection. It was too much friction, and not enough pressure, and the disconcerting realization that the solid weight brushing repeatedly against him was _Derek’s cock_. And it wasn’t as though Stiles had never thought about other men before, or even Derek in particular, because he _had_. You didn’t make friends with drag queens without spending some time reevaluating your own sexuality, and Stiles had had his own _‘holy shit I like dick’_ freak-out more than a year earlier. It hadn’t lasted long, and Stiles had assumed that was the end of his worries on that front.

Apparently, being suddenly introduced - on a very personal level - to another guy’s erection was a whole different ballgame from just _thinking_ about another guy’s erection. And, as usual when Stiles was nervous or uncertain - or, you know, _awake_ \- his mouth sort of ran away with him.

“That’s your dick.”

When Derek stilled above him, Stiles cringed and wished he could pull those words back into his mouth. Derek raised his head and quirked one expressive eyebrow, and Stiles breathed out in a shaky, relieved rush when he realized one corner of Derek’s mouth was twitching up in amusement. “Yes, it is.” He murmured and Stiles could have kissed him just because of how _fond_ he sounded.

And then Derek was sliding his hand between their bodies, and strong fingers were curling around Stiles’ arousal as Derek added. “This one’s yours, in case you weren’t sure.”

Stiles’ mouth moved soundlessly around several gasping breaths, his head slamming into the mattress as his eyes rolled back in his head. “Fu- _uck!”_ He finally managed to spit out a word, just as Derek released him and returned to grinding their hips together, smirking down at him.

After a moment of nothing more than panting heavily, Stiles licked his lips - his mouth felt too-dry all of a sudden, a fact he blamed entirely on the firm press of Derek’s cock against his own - and began to babble. “It’s just...I knew you had one, obviously. A dick, I mean. And it’s a nice one. It’s...fuck, it’s gorgeous and it feels _so_ good against mine right now and I _really_ want to touch it, I do, I swear, and I kind of want to taste it, too...”

Stiles trailed off as Derek’s hips suddenly stuttered out of rhythm, a keening whine leaving his lips, but his brain never stopped for long. Only seconds later his mouth was off and running again.

“It’s just, I’ve never...you know, even _seen_ another dick. Like, not counting locker rooms. So, another _hard_ dick. In person, as opposed to porn, obviously. I’ve never...” Stiles let out a soft moan, because Derek was shifting back and wrapping a wet - with what, Stiles had no idea - hand around both their cocks and stroking, quick and smooth and _so_ obscene. But his mouth wouldn’t be stopped; not yet. “I don’t....you’re _big_ , Der, and I...fuck, that’s going to be _inside_ me, and I...I’ve never...I don’t know if...”

Stiles mind was slowing down, the dragging rush of pleasure making it hard to keep thinking. Then Derek’s voice was a low husky whisper against his ear as the alpha leaned in close, breath hot on Stiles’ skin. “I was actually hoping we could do it the other way around.”

“Do what the other way around?” Stiles asked, the words tumbling out a split second before understanding slammed into him, his brain catching up with the conversation and the connotation in Derek’s words. Golden eyes went wide and he stared up at Derek in shock, managing a raspy half-reply. “You mean, you...you want...”

Derek lifted his head enough to meet Stiles’ gaze and those gorgeous, ever-changing eyes went red as he said in a growl. “I want you to _fuck me_ , Stiles.”

If that had been any less devastatingly hot than it was, Stiles might have been embarrassed about the way he was suddenly pulsing sticky-wet heat over Derek’s fist and cock and both their bellies. As it was, he was too busy clawing at Derek’s back and choking on curses to be concerned about it. Derek was rumbling soothingly and stroking him through it and it was several minutes before Stiles regained enough brain function to understand any of what Derek was actually saying. When he could make sense of words again, he was immediately sorry he’d missed any of it.

“...so beautiful when you come, Stiles. Want to feel that inside me. Want you to fill me up.”

“Holy shit, you’re going to kill me.” Stiles managed, nothing but awe in his voice. Derek huffed out a laugh and Stiles couldn't help grinning dopily up at him. “I am so lucky. You’re amazing.”

Derek’s cheeks flushed an endearing red and Stiles couldn't help cooing softly. “Oh my god, you’re blushing. You just jacked me off, and said a whole bunch of incredibly filthy things, and now you’re _blushing_.”

“Shut up.” Derek mumbled it, but he was pouting adorably and there was a gleam in those green-brown-blue-grey eyes that let Stiles know he was about to say something snarky. Or wicked. Or both.

Sure enough, a moment later Derek lowered his voice to a husky sort of rumble and asked. “How fast can you get it up again, Stilinski? Because I haven’t come yet and I still want you to fuck me.”

Stiles cock immediately began to harden, blood rushing southward. “Keep talking like that and I’d say...oh, about two minutes, give or take.” When Derek’s eyes widened in surprise, nose twitching as he scented Stiles’ renewed arousal, Stiles grinned cheekily. “I’m a teenager, Derek, and one known for masturbating a lot. I’m good for a few rounds, at least, before I need a nap and food.”

Derek threw his head back and _howled_ , and Stiles eyes widened because the sound was loud enough to echo around the room and make Stiles ears ring a bit. When Derek looked down at him again with burning red eyes, fangs were gleaming in his mouth and the sharp points of his claws were resting against the pale skin of Stiles’ chest. Stiles swallowed hard, but not in fear. It had been a long time since he’d been afraid of Derek. No, it was just...a little _overwhelming_ , to know he was the cause of Derek’s sudden lapse in control. To know he could have such a profound effect on _anyone_ , let alone Derek. 

Suddenly, Derek was waving a half-empty bottle of lube in Stiles face, expression pleading. “I can’t...my claws, I don’t think I can...” Derek whimpered, shaking his head until his fangs receded and he could speak without lisping around them. “ _Fuck_ , Stiles, I don’t have the control to...can you?”

“Yeah. I...yeah, of course, Der.” Stiles hastily opened the bottle’s little cap, the quiet _snick_ weirdly loud against the backdrop of harsh breaths and the soft whines Derek was letting out with every other breath.

He slicked his hand quickly, barely remembering to close the lid before tossing the bottle aside. Stiles pushed up to sitting, slowly enough that Derek could shift back and resettle his weight on his knees, straddling Stiles’ thighs. It took Stiles a moment of thought to sort out what he wanted to do, but then it suddenly seemed very simple. He reached up with his clean hand and tangled it in Derek’s soft hair, tugging lightly until the alpha’s forehead was pressed against his and they were breathing the same air. Then Stiles spread his legs a few inches, gently forcing Derek’s knees further apart; opening the werewolf to him.

Swallowing loudly, Stiles reached down between their bodies. He slipped his hand between Derek’s legs and brushed the tip of one slick finger against Derek’s balls before slowly dragging it further back. He kept his eyes locked on Derek’s face; watched the way Derek’s pupils blew wide even as he canted his hips back into Stiles’ light touch. Stiles pressed forward, carefully but without hesitation, and had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to resist groaning at how easily his finger slid in. Seeing the rising flush on Derek’s skin - rosy color blossoming on his cheeks before spreading down his neck and across the top of his chest - Stiles immediately added a second finger, _knowing_ Derek could take it.

“You’re opening up so easily for me...” Stiles murmured, because his tongue never had learned to be still and the way Derek moaned and pushed back onto his fingers proved the werewolf didn’t mind. “Do you do this a lot, Derek? Do you fuck yourself open on your fingers, making all the same desperate sounds you’re making for me right now?” Stiles shifted his head, leaning in just far enough to scrape his teeth along the edge of Derek’s jaw before asking. “Do you think of me?”

“Ye- _es_.” Derek keened, and Stiles rewarded him with another finger, seeing no reason to go slowly when it was clear neither of them wanted - or needed - that. “Fuck… _fuck_ , Stiles, I...your fingers are _so_ long...I...” Derek cut himself off with a moan, body arching and head dropping back as he started to ride Stiles’ hand.

Stiles didn’t think there was anything anywhere more beautiful than the sight of Derek Hale falling apart. Stiles leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the sweat-slicked skin above Derek’s heart, and curled his fingers inside of the older man. Stiles savored the way Derek cried out, grinding himself back almost viciously, barely able to believe _he_ was the one reducing Derek to a desperate, needy mess. He had always thought a large portion of Derek’s appeal was his control; that one of the hottest things about Derek was the idea that he would be as dominant and powerful _in_ bed as he was out of it. But _this_...Derek writhing on Stiles’ fingers, his claws leaving fast-healing welts on his own thighs as he struggled not to hurt Stiles in his fervor, acting like a complete slut _for Stiles..._

Stiles was certain there was nothing hotter.

“Look at you.” Stiles breathed, eyes trying to take in every exquisite inch of the alpha on his lap. “Fuck, you’re so hard for me...” Stiles used the tips of two fingers to swipe across the head of Derek’s cock, locking gazes with the older man as he licked the salty-sharp fluid off his own skin with a teasing flick of his tongue.

When Derek _mewled_ , Stiles couldn't take it anymore. He slid his fingers out of Derek, ignoring his whimpered protests, and used the lube still on his hand to slick his cock. Before he could do anything else - like urge Derek into a different position, or triple-check that this was what Derek _really_ wanted, or take a second to mentally prepare himself - Derek shifted his weight, braced his hands on Stiles’ shoulders, and impaled himself on Stiles’ cock. Stiles sucked in a stunned breath as _hotslicktight_ enveloped him. His hands came up to grip Derek’s hips, long fingers pressing fast-fading bruises into Derek’s skin.

Derek was breathing heavily, fully seated in Stiles’ lap, sweat-sheened skin glistening in the red-tinged light filtering through the gauzy curtains from the slow-setting summer sun. Stiles had to squeeze his eyes shut and take several slow, deep breaths, grateful Derek wasn’t moving just yet, struggling to adjust to the way it felt to be settled deep inside someone. He could feel Derek’s thighs trembling against his; could feel Derek’s body slowly relaxing around his cock; could feel Derek’s cock pressed between their bellies, hard and leaking. He could feel Derek’s chest brushing his whenever one of them breathed, damp skin sticking together just a bit each time. He could feel Derek’s breath, and his own, hot against his skin as they panted into the small space between their faces, foreheads pressed together once more, close and shockingly intimate now that Stiles was actually _inside_ Derek.

“Holy shit.” Derek huffed a laugh at Stiles’ breathless words, but Stiles didn’t care; couldn't be bothered with embarrassment. “God, Derek, you...you’re perfect.”

It was Derek who blushed, not Stiles, though he didn’t look away. “I’m not, but I’m better than I was.” He moved his head a little from side-to-side and Stiles couldn't help smiling as the movement effectively rubbed their noses together. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Stiles asked, voice low and soft, affection for the strong but vulnerable man he’d never dared to dream could be his lacing his words. “I mean, you’re welcome, of course, but...”

“For not thinking this makes me weak. For not mocking me for wanting this.” And Derek moved his hips, his breath catching and making it clear what he meant by _this_. “For understanding, and giving me this.”

Stiles locked eyes with Derek and leaned in to press a light kiss to Derek’s lips before answering. “It’s not exactly a hardship on my end, you know. And I could never think of you as weak. You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever known, and I will _never_ mock you for what you want or need. From me, or from _us.”_

Lips twitching up, he added. “Now, are you going to move sometime soon or do I have to flip us over and do all the work myself?”

The way Derek’s eyes flashed red told Stiles all he needed to know, so he put all the training he’d done with the pack to good use and had Derek flat on his back beneath him seconds later. “Stiles...” Derek gasped his name, back arching as Stiles sank back into tight heat, his nails going too-sharp as they dragged down Stiles’ back, though neither of them cared. “Stiles, fuck, I...”

“Shhh...” Stiles soothed, dropping a quick kiss on Derek’s shoulder. “I’ve got you, Der. Promise.”

Stiles would have liked to be able to say he fell into a smooth, steady rhythm; that he found Derek’s prostate and hit it with every thrust; that he was somehow a natural at sex. But Derek was hot and tight around him, and Stiles had never been the best at focusing. His hips stuttered in a too-fast-not-fast-enough staccato cadence as he gave into the desire to move - _fuck yes...so good, Derek, fuck_ \- and struggled to last at the same time - _shit, too much...so tight, Der_ \- and he would have worried about Derek enjoying himself if the alpha hadn’t been writhing beneath him so wantonly. It wasn’t long before Stiles gave up on any pretense of finesse or control.

He lowered his head to Derek’s shoulder, setting his mouth there, his teeth digging in with a fierceness he might have worried about if it was anyone other than Derek under him. Stiles stopped caring about speed or depth or angles and let his body move to the sound of his heart pounding in his ears like it was music. When he felt Derek’s hand slip between their bodies and realized the alpha was stroking himself, he released Derek’s neck long enough to hiss filth and encouragement into the older man’s ear.

“Come on, Der...so close, I’m gonna...fuck, you’re so good for me, come on...” Stiles wasn’t sure how he was still talking; wasn’t sure how he hadn’t come yet, though he could feel it coiled low and tight in his belly and knew it was a matter of a minute or two at the most. Urgency seemed to spur his tongue on. “Der, please...come on, come for me...come on, I need you to... _Derek…_ ”

As Stiles said Derek’s name around a keening sort of moan, he couldn't hold back anymore. Seconds later his hips were grinding deep, pulsing hot and slick inside of Derek. It was a bit like shattering and a bit like flying and a bit like nothing Stiles had ever experienced before, Derek’s body snug around him right through the end when it started to feel like too much. And as Stiles struggled to hold himself up, arms shaky and weak and feeling a little dizzy like he wasn’t getting enough air - or maybe like he’d been taking in too much - he felt Derek tense up, going too-tight around his softening cock. Seconds later wet heat splashed against his stomach, and Stiles gave up trying to keep himself out of the way of Derek’s stroking hand, letting his weight drop down on the werewolf.

Derek grunted but didn’t complain, so Stiles counted it as a win.

A minute or two or ten later - around the time Stiles was getting his breath back and starting to be concerned about the sticky mess coating both of them - Derek sighed heavily. Before Stiles could wonder at the cause or worry about it, Derek was nuzzling into Stiles’ throat while rolling the teen over - off of him and onto his back on the other side of the bed. He stopped cuddling far too soon for Stiles taste, and the teen let out a disappointed noise when Derek pulled away after only a minute or so.

“Be right back.” Derek said softly, pressing a kiss to Stiles’ forehead before climbing off the bed.

True to his word, Derek returned from his en-suite bathroom only moments later, and Stiles struggled not to blush as Derek wiped him down with a damp washcloth. Derek disappeared back into the bathroom for a few minutes and Stiles assumed he was washing himself up. When Derek finally slid back into the large bed beside him, he immediately turned onto his side and backed himself up into Derek’s arms, content to be the little spoon. Derek nuzzled into the back of his neck, a low rumble coming from Derek’s throat that Stiles would have called a purr if it was made by anyone _not_ a werewolf. And Stiles knew they’d need to talk in the morning; would need to sort out things like what they were now and how serious Derek was about him - because Stiles felt pretty serious all of a sudden and he didn’t want to be alone on that - and what they’d do when Stiles went away to college in the fall, but for the moment sleep was dragging him down and he saw no reason to fight it.

So he let himself drift off into dreams, safe and secure in Derek’s arms, determined to enjoy the moment for as long as it lasted.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Derek woke up the way he’d learned to in the last year, slowly and calmly. Gone were the days he jerked to wakefulness at the slightest sound, heart pounding and the long-past scent of smoke haunting him. Gone were the nights he couldn't stay asleep more than an hour or two, body trained to move; move; keep moving, because that was the only way to stay safe. Most nights, Derek got a full eight hours and rare were the nights he woke up with nightmares. Peaceful sleep was something he’d fought for, and something he’d earned, and something he was pretty sure he’d never take for granted. Waking up surrounded by the scent of Stiles, though...that was new, and felt so right it took Derek a moment to understand what was _wrong._

Derek was alone in the bed.

The sheets beside him hadn’t gone cold yet, so Derek knew Stiles hadn’t been gone long. He listened, but Stiles wasn’t in the adjoining bathroom and Derek swallowed down a series of fears with a stubborn determination not to borrow trouble. Instead, he slipped out of the bed - heedless of his nudity, because it wasn’t as though most of the pack hadn’t all seen him before and everyone should be sleeping anyway since the clock said it was just a little after 3am - and headed for the door. The second he was in the hallway, he isolated the sound of Stiles’ heartbeat and followed it through the house. As he stepped into the kitchen, he felt everything in him turn to ice.

_“Stiles...”_

~*~*~*~*~*~

The sound of Derek saying his name had Stiles turning around, a smile on his lips. It fell the instant he saw Derek’s face and the fear in his eyes. Dropping the cup he’d been drinking from - barely registering the sound of shattering glass as he rushed to Derek’s side - he asked. “What? What happened? What’s wrong?”

“You...” Derek was clutching his arms - grip verging on tight enough to hurt - and gasping like he’d had the wind knocked out of him. “Holy crap, Stiles, you...what the hell were you drinking just now, Gatorade? You couldn't have drank it from the bottle and saved me the heart attack?”

Stiles blinked a few times, then looked behind himself at the broken glass on the floor. Then he turned back to frown at Derek. “No, it was water.”

For a long moment, neither of them said anything, just stared at each other with wide eyes. Then, in a stunned voice, Stiles whispered. “You _love_ me.”

He watched Derek swallow hard, and wondered what the alpha would say. But Derek’s voice was soft and calm when he spoke. “Of course I do. I thought I explained that last night.”

And Stiles was shaking his head because _no_ , he would remember if Derek Hale had said ‘ _I love you_ ’ at any point during their acquaintance. “You said...you said I smell like yours. And you said you wanted me, and that you would have let me go if I found someone during college, and...and you _never_ said you love me.”

“It was implied.” Derek said, and he shrugged like it was unimportant. “Does it change things, me loving you?”

“Duh.” Stiles snapped, even though he wasn’t really _angry_. Just surprised. And, yeah, okay, a little angry that he’d had to figure it out himself because Derek didn’t know how to use his words. “You love me, Derek. And you _kissed_ me. You could have done that _days_ ago and broken the curse sooner! I could have _showered.”_

“Oh.” Derek blushed and admitted. “I hadn’t thought of that. I don’t _think_ about loving you, Stiles. It’s just something that’s there.” He reached out and touched Stiles cheek and, weak as he was, Stiles nuzzled into it before remembering he was supposed to be angry.

But he didn’t want to be angry, and Derek was looking at him with soft, apologetic eyes, so Stiles didn’t pull away from the touch. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

And Stiles sighed before saying the only thing he could in reply. “I love you, too, Sourwolf.”

Derek just smiled, so Stiles rolled his eyes and yawned. “Come on. Help me clean up this glass so we can go back to bed. I’m still tired.”

“Go to bed, Stiles.” Derek nudged him gently towards the doorway. “I’ll be up in a few minutes.” And Stiles, who hadn’t really wanted to pick up a bunch of broken glass anyway, and who wouldn’t heal instantly if he cut himself, went without protest.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Stiles woke up to the sound of someone banging on the door, followed by Derek hauling him closer while growling sleepily when he tried to get up. “Okay, big guy, I’m all for the snuggles, but I need to see why someone is trying to break your door down. So let me up.”

Derek grumbled but released him, and Stiles was still smiling dopily when he opened the door to find a glaring Jackson. “Dude, it’s like...” Stiles glanced over at Derek’s clock, which read a quarter past six in the morning, and turned back to snap. “It’s literally ass-o-clock in the morning. _What?”_

“Lydia wants you downstairs.” Jackson sneered, his nose wrinkling up in disgust. “She said immediately, but I think you should try to use a washcloth to get some of that funk off you, Stilinski. You fucking reek.”

Before Stiles could retort, Jackson was gone. Seconds later, Derek was wrapping himself around him from behind and nuzzling into his throat. “I think you smell good. You smell like me, and you, and sex, and us.”

Stiles sighed and melted back into Derek’s heat for a moment, then said. “We should go down before Lydia comes up here herself.” He grinned when Derek whined and added teasingly. “I’ll make breakfast if you come downstairs without a fuss, and after we see what she wants and deal with it I promise we can come back to bed.”

Derek nodded and let Stiles go, turning to track down something to put on. Stiles, for his part, had stolen a pair of Derek’s boxers and a tee-shirt the night before, when Derek was cleaning up glass, so he just lounged against the door while the alpha found clothing. He wound up in sweatpants and a tank top, which Stiles was 100% okay with as it allowed him to admire Derek’s shoulders and biceps unimpeded. Derek rolled his eyes when Stiles said as much, and pushed him out of the bedroom and towards the stairs. Stiles went, but only because the sooner they dealt with Lydia the sooner he could drag Derek away for more sexytimes.

Plus, he was pretty hungry.

When Stiles walked into the kitchen, Derek in tow, the rest of the pack was already assembled. Erica immediately let out a whistle and wiggled her eyebrows at Stiles, making him and Derek blush. “Is he as good at fucking as he looks like he would be?”

And before Stiles could say something - he was trying to sort out something snarky and scathing and also suitably vague - Derek spoke. “Honestly, he’s better.”

For a moment, no one said anything. Then Erica squealed, Isaac and Jackson made gagging noises, and Scott made a sound like a dying animal before turning pleading eyes on Stiles. “Please tell me he’s not saying what I think he’s saying, bro. I can’t...I can’t know that much about you and sex. Ever. We have a code, Stiles. We made _promises_ , remember?”

“Then why the hell do I know so much about Allison?” Stiles asked, grinning a little wider when Allison immediately punched Scott hard enough to make the werewolf wince. “You overshared for months, dude. I’m entitled at this point. And anyway, Derek made no such promises. So take it up with him.”

Scott looked at Derek, then winced when the alpha flashed red eyes while smirking. “Yeah, okay. Just...no details, please. Pretty please, Stiles. Just...none, okay?”

“I want them all.” Erica cooed before biting into a peach almost viciously. “We’re having hardcore girl-talk, Stiles, I’m serious. You will tell me _everything_.”

“I want in on that.” Allison chimed in, then she glanced at Lydia. “What about you?”

Lydia looked up from where she’d been filing her nails and smiled slightly. “Obviously. But first, I really want to know if Stiles let all of us get up this early for no reason - as I suspect he did - or if he and Derek either managed to get through the night without kissing or, more likely, didn’t realize what it meant that they _did_ kiss.”

“Oh...” Stiles could practically _feel_ the guilty look he knew was on his face. When Lydia’s eyes narrowed at him, he winced and spoke quickly. “In our defense, we only figured it out at, like, three am. Would you have preferred I woke you all up then to tell you I was fixed?”

Lydia pursed her lips, and Stiles suddenly realized something and added. “And you _obviously_ figured out that he would be able to break the curse, so why’d you wake up in the first place? You knew you could have slept in. I don’t see how this is getting put on _me!_ I was busy being devirginized, dammit, and curse-breaking was _your_ department, not mine. I refuse to be held accountable for not thinking clearly when sexing Derek Hale up was my primary focus at the time! That is _extenuating circumstances_ , Lydia.”

“Probably.” Lydia smiled and nodded towards the fridge. “I’m an early riser anyway, though, and I demand breakfast as recompense for all of the work I put into a ritual we don’t actually need. Breakfast, Stiles. Feed me and I’ll consider forgiving you.”

And since Stiles had been planning on cooking anyway, he shrugged and started pulling things out of the fridge without complaint. “Of course, my queen. Any requests?”

Lydia’s grin widened. “Bacon. I demand bacon. And one of your frittatas. Spinach, mozzarella, mushrooms, and peppers. If you burn it, I’ll murder you in your sleep.”

“Good luck sneaking past the alpha werewolf I’m sharing a bed with.” Stiles laughed, but obligingly grabbed everything Lydia had asked for. “Somebody go set the table.”

Boyd and Isaac immediately began grabbing plates and silverware while Scott and Allison pulled out cups, milk, and three kinds of juice. Stiles half-watched as they carried everything into the dining room as he began prepping ingredients. When Derek stepped up and started helping, Stiles fell into the same easy rhythm they always had when cooking together. He couldn’t help smiling at how easy it was with Derek; they already fit together in so many ways, and on so many levels. He felt a little stupid for having missed Derek’s feelings for him, all things considered, but then Derek shot him a smile - bunny teeth and eyes crinkled up at the corners, his whole face lit up - and Stiles figured he could be forgiven for not assuming someone as amazing as Derek Hale was into _him_.

Lydia moved to the dining room, demanding Jackson make her more coffee over her shoulder as she went, and Stiles shook his head in amusement as he started cracking eggs into a bowl. “Guess I need to get used to being pack mom now that I’m dating the alpha, huh?”

“Is that a joke?” Derek asked, sounding bewildered, and Stiles felt himself tense up in fear. Had he overstepped, by calling them an item? They’d both admitted to loving each other the night before, so he’s assumed...but maybe he was wrong.

Unsure what to say, Stiles stayed silent. After several long, silent minutes, Derek spoke softly. “Stiles, you’ve been acting like pack mom since before there was even one cohesive pack. I never objected because it’s the appropriate role for the alpha’s mate to take - caring for the pack, feeding them, keeping the den clean, looking after everyone’s well-being - but if you don’t like it...”

“I do.” Stiles said quickly, because he’d never really thought about his mother-hen tendencies before (though his dad and Scott and Melissa all teased him about them) but he guessed he _had_ been mothering the whole pack for a while now. “I didn’t realize I was doing it before. I just worry a lot, so I tend to transfer that energy into taking care of people.”

“I like that about you.” Derek pulled Stiles in for a quick kiss, both of them smiling into it. “Now hurry up. Our pack is hungry, and your alpha wants to eat so he can take his mate back to bed.”

“My alpha needs to stop referring to himself in the third person like a weirdo.” Stiles laughed, but he turned back to the stove and resumed cooking. “But your mate agrees with the plan.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Stiles opened the door of his jeep and jumped out. Seconds later he was running across the front yard of the Hale House, straight into a waiting Derek’s arms. It hadn’t been long since they’d seen each other - Stiles had only taken a few days after graduation to pack up all of his things and come back to Beacon Hills, and he’d spent the first evening and night with just his dad, but still. It hadn’t even been a full week since his graduation, and Derek had come to Berkeley for that. And yet, Stiles hated _any_ time spent away from his alpha, and he knew Derek hated being away from his mate just as much. So this reunion was no-less enthusiastic than any of theirs had been during the four years Stiles had been away at school.

“God, I missed you.” Stiles managed, getting the words out in between fierce kisses. “Like, you don’t even know, Der. I missed you _so_ much. I’m not going anywhere but our bedroom, the bathroom, and the kitchen for like...at least two weeks. And neither are you.”

Derek huffed a quiet laugh against his mouth, and teased. “I think your dad might object to one of his deputies missing two weeks of work to have sex with his son.”

“Shut up. I missed you. Logic has no place in this conversation.” Stiles sighed and snuggled in as close to Derek as he could get with both their clothes on and them standing out in the open. “I never want to leave you again, Sourwolf. Not for anything.”

There was a pause, then Derek nudged Stiles back and said solemnly. “So marry me.”

A second later he was waving a ring box under Stiles nose, a thick platinum band winking up at Stiles in the bright morning sunlight. And Stiles didn’t hesitate to throw himself forward, arms and legs winding around Derek’s torso as he peppered kisses across the alpha’s face. “Yes. Yes, yes, a million times fucking yes. _Hell_ yes. You are marrying me, Derek. I’m going to marry the _fuck_ out of you. I will be the best little wife ever, okay? I’m going to be pack mom and alpha mate of the year, every year. I love you. So much. Oh my god, put the ring on me already before I explode, holy shit!”

Derek’s laughter was the best sound Stiles had ever heard, and probably always would be. “I need you to stop acting like a leech for ten seconds if you want the ring, Stiles.”

And though he whined, Stiles unwound himself from Derek and held out his hand, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, unable to keep still. “Come on, come on, come on...”

“God, you’re ridiculous.” Derek laughed, but he quickly captured Stiles’ hand and slipped the ring onto his finger, grinning when it fit. “Happy now?”

“Ecstatic.” Stiles admitted, throwing himself forward again, murmuring into Derek’s ear. “Now, let’s go inside so I can make love to my fiance, okay?”

The rumbling growl and the flash of red eyes was all the answer Stiles needed.

**_~ Fin ~_ **

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone who missed it in the beginning notes:
> 
> Come bother me on tumblr at: http://everything-a-wolf-could-want.tumblr.com/ I post writing advice, and fandom stuff, and sometimes reblog fanfic from other peeps. I also accept asks, and prompts (though I reserve the right to refuse them, obviously).
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope you all enjoyed this. Kudos are nice but comments make my life a little brighter for a while, so pretty please leave me some love!
> 
> ~ Sly


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